


Icebreaker

by MorganEAshton



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor has interchangeable genitalia, Consensual Dubcon, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hank's POV, M/M, POV Third Person, Porn with Feelings, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sexual Roleplay, Wire Play, slight android body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganEAshton/pseuds/MorganEAshton
Summary: It's hard, navigating a new relationship in a new world.  It can be easy to fear that one wrong move will cause everything they've built to come crashing down around them.  Hank doesn't want to feel that way anymore.  He misses when they could be themselves, and he wants it back.His solution is unorthodox, but it just might work.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 112





	Icebreaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jolli_Bean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/gifts).



> This fic comes thanks to [Jolli_Bean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolli_bean), who posted [these](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1283396033582706688?s=20) [Tweets](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1283398252629495808?s=20) about how good it is when Hank sucks dick. I couldn't agree more, so I took a break from [The Ghost Is Unwell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004620) to write this filthy thing. Because I'm me, I of course had to turn it into a bit of a character and relationship study, too. To everyone, and especially to Jolli, I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it! ♥

The idea has been brewing in Hank's mind for weeks now. It's not that he has doubts; he knew he wanted to do it the moment he thought of it. The problem was figuring out how to bring it up to Connor.

They've been more careful, since the revolution. They need to keep their best feet forward in their public appearances, and the both of them have been stressed and touchy. It's a situation that requires tact. Hank's trying to get sober and Connor's just trying to adjust to being alive, and they're wearing themselves thin in the push for android rights. It's a lot. It could easily become too much, if they put the wrong kind of pressure on each other. So they've been careful, but it also means they've bottled a lot up inside. That's its own kind of overwhelm.

Connor's gained a lot of understanding since he deviated. He's gotten a conscious grasp on empathy, he's learned what kinds of things people consider invasive or pushy or rude. He's learned how to charm interviewers, and to emote more for the cameras. He's learned how to act more human. But sometimes, Hank sees a brief flash of yellow at his temple when he's shaken a few too many hands, sees the slight tic at the left corner of his mouth when he's been forcing a smile too long. Connor is kind, in his own quirky way, but he isn't naturally demonstrative and it's hard for him to hold back his tendency to probe or speak his mind. He hates it, Hank knows, that to be accepted by humans he has to act like less of an android. Less like himself.

That's what gave Hank the idea. He just hasn't known how to explain why he picked this particular solution.

Thing is, he's tried the direct route. He's tried to let Connor know that he doesn't need to put on the act at home, that even if Hank is in a pissy mood and Connor sets him off that it doesn't mean Connor did anything wrong. It doesn't mean they'll fall apart. Hank's just a fucking curmudgeon, as surely as Connor can be a sassy prick. It just comes across as hypocritical when he's struggling with it as much as Connor is. It falls flat to say to be authentic, when Hank bites back his own snark for fear of sinking the ship.

The only place they're honest is the bedroom. There's something about being physically naked with someone that makes it easier to be bare in other ways. Sex is also the one "human" thing that Connor has embraced enthusiastically. He puts his own spin on it, of course--interchangeable genitalia are kind of android-specific--but he told Hank once that the overwhelming sensations make him feel truly alive in a way few other things can. Not all androids are into it, but Connor is, and his unique sexuality has become part of his identity.

Connor is in a dick mood today. Literally. He's set aside the collection of vulvas and more alien options and has lined a few of his favorite cocks up on the bed. He turns to Hank with a curious hum.

"You asking for my opinion?"

"Yes. I want to know if any are standing out to you."

Hank knows which one he wants. It's the one he imagined, specifically, when this fantasy first occurred to him. He sidles up behind Connor and points. "This one. You don't get to wear it when we're on the press circuit. Not with your damn tight jeans."

"You like my tight jeans."

"I'm not the one who'd be complaining." He plays his fingertips over Connor's tummy and the subtle ridges of his hip plates.

Connor twists to give him one of those secretive little smirks that make Hank's belly coil hot. He puts the other dicks away and holds up the one Hank picked. "Want to do the honors?"

If Hank had been asked a year ago if he could be turned on by swapping out an android's bits--well, first, he would have asked, "What the fuck?" But if the conversation had somehow managed to get to that place, he would have not only denied it was possible, but been actively disgusted. He was surprised to find, with Connor, that he'd been excited from the start. Connor hadn't been made with genitals. Most androids, other than Tracis, weren't. It was complicated, expensive tech, even by android standards. Pleasure sensors, lubrication and ejaculation, the ways they morph with arousal--it wasn't until androids took over Cyberlife that production had been refined enough to make them widely accessible. Once they were, Connor had wanted to experience them all, and his enthusiasm had been contagious. He'd been thrilled enough that it'd even carried him (with only minor griping) through the procedure to install the new universal port.

The discovery process has been staggeringly intimate. Each new attachment--provided confidentially and free of charge as thanks for their reform work--comes with its own new sensations and emotions. And best for Hank, perhaps, has always been that moment when Connor lies spread for him, and Hank detaches one pelvic module to replace it with another. That brief respite where he can nuzzle between Connor's legs and into his wires, and marvel at the transcendent, impossible feeling of loving an android with every organic fiber of his being.

"Hank," Connor whispers in white noise, arching and grasping at Hank's hair.

It's not the thing he set out to do today, but he can't resist indulging. It's a different act from giving head to Connor's attachments. The wires themselves don't respond to his attention, and he can't be wet or messy. What he can do is bury his nose when Connor spreads his legs wide to let Hank in, brushing his lips over sensory relays and the strange, still-foreign softness of thirium channels. He can slip his fingers in past the knuckles and find that bundle that makes Connor light up blue from somewhere deep within. He can kiss and tug and caress Connor's inner workings until the blue turns yellow and then red, until his synthskin warps and dissolves, until his hands stutter and twitch and then go still.

It had horrified Hank, the first time. Red is bad. Glitching out is bad. Reaching inside your partner's guts and fiddling around until he temporarily shuts down? Not usually something Hank would think of as good, or sexy. But Connor had wanted it, loudly and brokenly, had wanted Hank inside him in the most visceral way, and Hank--

He's lived a morbid existence for so long that there's something that feels right about it. Something about Connor's most mechanical vulnerabilities, exposed to Hank's most animal, primal urges. Deeper than sex, deep into the hunter's instinct and the craving for violence that's been so twisted by this world and the sick realities of his old career.

It's a little like what he wants to give Connor, in that way.

They're both compassionate, at heart, but they've still killed and fought and destroyed so many beautiful things that will never recover from their impact. It's important, sometimes, to love each other despite that. That's especially true now, when they have to apologize and whitewash themselves and pretend those parts of them are gone, so they don't shatter the tentative peace they're promoting.

Hank gently pries Connor's hands from their stinging rigor mortis grip, and kisses the stomach of his chassis until his motor functions come back online.

"Fuck," Connor says. His face melts into a satisfied smile and his body into a contented puddle on the sheets. It takes him a good ten minutes before his synthskin and hair ripple back into existence.

Hank holds Connor's flaccid cock in his mouth as he attaches it, so the first thing Connor feels is him. His moan harmonizes with Connor's as the part clicks into place and immediately begins to expand and fill him. His pitch deepens, down into a growl, as he feels the silicone sheath change texture, right there against his tongue.

It's Connor's biggest dick besides some of the monster ones, and the biggest Hank can swallow. He relaxes into it as it grows within him, stretching his lips and his throat as it does. 

"It's one of those days, huh?" Connor says, warm and frayed around the edges. It's unfair, the craftsmanship of him, that he can sound like that.

Hank sighs serenely through his nose and gives a thumbs-up.

Connor props himself up on the pillows and returns his fingers to Hank's hair, soothing the ache he left. He cards through, tender as a sprouting bud. "Do you want anything from me?"

Hank takes his time responding. He doesn't pull off until Connor is fully hard. He luxuriates for a moment even then, bobbing a few times in slow, savoring bliss before he lets the head slip out, dragging a trail of spit and synthetic precome down his chin. "Sort of. There's something I want for you, if you'd enjoy it."

Brown eyes go sharply attentive, eager to solve this new mystery.

"Are you feeling up for a roleplay?" He runs his hands heavy over Connor's inner thighs.

"Depends what it is."

"I want to let you act like a machine. Use me like getting off is your mission, or like I'm an obstacle and fucking me is the most efficient way to put me in my place."

Connor's breath hitches and his cock jumps. "Hank, you hate me like that."

He climbs up Connor's body and kisses him soundly. "I love you. We're way past the point where you could do anything to change that."

"I'm not sure you realize what you're asking of me."

"I've got a pretty good idea."

He's right against Hank's lips, so close they're fluttering against each other when they speak. "If I had followed my mission instead of you, I would have killed a lot of people who didn't deserve it. I might have--" He breaks the contact and looks away.

He chases Connor's lips, grinning. "You saying you're gonna bone me to death?"

His distressed sound is hilariously close to a beep. "No, of course not, but--!"

Hank is trying to laugh and talk and kiss, all at once. "Look, Connor, it took me a long time to see your side of things. I know now it was never, 'Do I kill them or not?' The question was whether they were alive, and from your perspective you thought you knew the answer a lot better than some bleeding heart human did. You were trying to prevent humans from getting killed by deviants. You're not a murderer."

"I could have killed you."

"That goes both ways, and yet here we are."

Connor looks at him, really looks at him, gaze analyzing and fingers tracing the shapes of Hank's face. "This is more than just a kink, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Kissing him is such an irresistible thing. "We've been acting too fragile lately. Never used to be that way, and we need it a lot less now than we did then."

"Why this?"

"I was the one who kept us up in the air. I judged your every move. I assumed if you acted one way it meant you were good and another it made you bad. I didn't understand you yet." He cups Connor's jaw. "I wanna show you things are different now. I'm different."

Connor initiates the kiss this time, hungry for it. "You'll have to give me the mission. I can't set it myself. That'd defeat the point."

"Mh, you wanna do it, then?"

"If you trust me."

"Hell yeah I do." Hank's thought this out. He knows exactly what his ideal version of this would be. He hopes Connor will like it even more. "So, say we're back in the middle of the case." He sits up.

Connor sits, too, scooting back to lean against the headboard. "Okay."

"CyberLife is getting annoyed at how I keep pulling you off-track. Maybe you've seen signs that I've got a thing for you, and it's a vulnerability you could exploit."

He bites his lip, wringing his hands together. Good sign.

"They've got an upgrade for you. They want you to test it, and use it to make me more cooperative. Data you've gathered says I'll be more compliant if you can get me to submit to you completely. Because you're testing function, they want you to put your new cock through its paces. Wring as much pleasure as you can out of it, use it hard to make sure it holds up to a stress test."

Connor's eyes are dilated as wide as Sumo's when he gets a new rawhide. He looks like he could start panting, too. "Holy shit, Hank. You would really be okay with that?"

"Been gagging for it since the night we did that interview on KNC."

The realization dawns visibly over Connor's face. "The one where Rosanna Cartland kept asking you all those invasive questions."

"That's the one. She kept trying to corner me into admitting you and me could never work out. Thought she had the 'gotcha' that'd prove I could never really love an android."

"She asked if you'd still be supporting us if I hadn't played nice."

"Yeah."

He's quiet as he leans in to brush a stray lock of hair out of Hank's face. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He shrugs, sheepish. "It was a big deal, and I've got anxiety."

Connor laughs, a breathy little thing. "I think we need to do some setup."

"What are you thinking?"

He takes Hank's hand, lacing their fingers, and guides him closer to kiss. It's tender, this time, almost chaste. "I'm thinking I want to be nice to you for a little while before we start."

Hank can't complain about that. They have aftercare down to a science by now, but this one's going to be different from their usual. He appreciates the idea of having beforecare, as well.

Connor takes control, guiding Hank to lie down on his back. He straddles his waist and rocks against the swell of his belly, and gropes self-indugently at his chest. When he leans down to kiss again it's honey-sweet, thick and cloying when he dips it into Hank's greedy mouth. It would be a precursor in any other situation, but this time Connor builds them down instead of up. He starts passionate and slows to something lazier, from deep and fervent to feather-light.

Hank takes it all with equal zeal, and thinks as he often does about how in love he is. It's a miraculous thing, loving Connor in all his improbability. It's a miracle that he exists, alive enough to resurrect Hank in spite of him. "I love you," he says into the space between Connor's parted lips, tucking the words into him for safekeeping. "God, I love you."

Connor chokes on it, the sound that bubbles out of him somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. "I love you, too."

Hank runs his hands over Connor's pretty cheeks and cups his head as they kiss again, and again. "I know you do, baby," and that's a miracle, as well.

Connor smooches him until their erections have flagged and Hank is drunk on his ambrosia. He gives him one last peck and slides off the bed to stand. He goes to the closet, but doesn't grab anything before he says, "Pretend you're asleep."

His movements are languid but he's far from tired. There's an anticipation thrumming under his skin as he gets under the covers, and it lights up when he steals one last glance at Connor and their eyes lock.

Connor fails to hide the uniform behind his back. "No peeking," he scolds, and then slips out of the room, turning the light off as he goes.

Hank's giddy as a schoolboy on Christmas Eve. He tries to force his breathing to slow and his body to relax, but he's sure he does a shit job of it.

Connor's loafers make a distinctive sound as they cross the hallway, and a different one as they move to the carpet of the bedroom. They stop near the bed, and then there's no sound to give away what Connor's doing until a voice is whispering directly into his ear, "Wake up, Lieutenant."

Hank's like a fucking sleeper agent, the way the title brings him right back to their first week together. He only half-fakes the way he jolts to full alertness. "Jesus, Connor! Do you know what time it is?"

"It is 6:43 in the morning," he says, too literal as always.

Hank looks at the clock. He can ignore the PM well enough, especially when the darkening autumn light through the window could almost pass for the break of dawn. That won't last, but it's enough to let him immerse himself in the scene. "Okay, smartass. You gonna tell me what you're doing in my house this early?" He grumbles, "Did you at least use the fucking door this time?"

"You should really change your locks, Lieutenant. They were extremely simple to pick."

"The fuck? Aren't you programmed to obey the law? What the hell are you doing, breaking and goddamn enteri--" His voice dies in his throat as he notices what Connor's doing.

Connor's head tilts, amusement tugging one side of his mouth. He drops his tie to the floor. "Do you like what you see?"

Hank is too out of it to keep from dragging his eyes down the exposed line of Connor's chest. He swallows. "The fuck?" he repeats.

Connor undoes another button, just to be a tease. "That doesn't answer my question."

"The hell are you doing, Connor?"

"I have a surprise for you, Lieutenant. Something that could potentially improve our working relationship." He slides his hand down and settles it over his belt. There's something straining the front of Connor's skinny little jeans that definitely wasn't there before.

Hank shouldn't know that. He shouldn't, and yet he does. "Are you coming onto me? Is that seriously what's happening right now?"

"I told you, Lieutenant: I'm whatever you want me to be. I've seen evidence to suggest that you may, in fact, want me to be coming onto you. Is that the case?"

He scrubs his hands over his face. "This ain't happening. It's some kind of fucking fever dream."

Connor sets a knee on the bed. "Would you like to test that theory? I can show you how real it is."

"What's your aim here, huh? I know damn well you didn't just decide all of a sudden that you want me. So what's the mission, Connor?" He starts to sit up.

Connor sets a hand on his chest and pushes him back down. "You've been a difficult partner, Lieutenant. We're supposed to be apprehending deviants, but you keep ordering me to let them go."

By the reference to their confrontation on Ambassador Bridge, Hank assumes this is taking place after Eden Club. "What about those Tracis, huh? You let them go on your own. You gonna blame me for that, too?"

Connor can move startlingly quickly, when he wants to. He is on the bed before Hank can react, bracketing his body and pinning his hands. "Your influence has corrupted my programming. Your attempts to turn me into a deviant have triggered numerous software instabilities. That can't be allowed to continue."

"I dunno, Connor. You're looking pretty unstable, right now."

"The issue was corrected when they installed the upgrade. Whatever you choose to read into my behavior is just wishful thinking."

"And yet here you are getting off on domming me. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think you mean it."

"Shut up," he hisses, and surges down to capture Hank's lips.

Hank would like to say he resists. He should resist. This goes against everything he stands for. But he hasn't stopped thinking about the Tracis, and how in love they looked. He hasn't stopped wondering if the tension he's been feeling between him and Connor could be something real, or if it's just a product of his own desperately lonely delusions. Is Connor just a machine exploiting Hank's human flaws, or a person doing this because, at some level, he wants it too? Hank doesn't know the answer. He shouldn't let this happen when he isn't sure, but he still relents too easily. The moan comes up unbidden as he falls pliant and open.

"I almost hoped you'd put up more of a fight." Connor leans to nudge Hank's chin up, then bites down on his neck. "But it is nice to see you cooperating for once."

Hank is hard. He's more turned on than he's been in years.

Connor licks a stripe along his skin. "Did you know that human males secrete pheromones in their sweat? You're producing quite a cocktail of them right now, Lieutenant. I can taste four distinct substances that broadcast your attraction to me. I can sense your heart rate climbing and your blood pressure rising. I can feel every decimal increase in your temperature, and see the most minute dilations of your pupils. For someone who claims to hate androids, you want me very badly."

God, but it's disgusting how hot he finds that. He blames whatever twisted fuck at CyberLife designed Connor to do things in the horniest possible way. "Hurry it up, Connor. Whatever it is you want from me, go ahead and take it."

Connor undoes his belt swiftly, and rips it from the loops so hard it cracks like a whip beside him. He gathers Hank's wrists in the leather and tightens it, just on the cusp of painful. He takes off his jacket and casts it aside. He opens the fly of his jeans. There's nothing underneath but his cock.

It's bigger than Hank would have imagined on a guy with Connor's body type. It might even be bigger than Hank's. It's like they chose it just to be pornographic, not to complete Connor's design. It's like they chose it to make Connor look more intimidating. There's no way they picked that and expected Connor to do anything but ruin him. It's sick, and Hank hates how it only turns him on more.

Connor adjusts to pull the cock out fully, holding it steady as he grasps Hank's hair with his other hand. He drags Hank's head up and forces him to look him in the eye. "I'm in charge of this investigation now, Lieutenant. Do you understand?"

He's panting, already so wrecked by so little. "What if I say no?"

The look Connor gives him is fondly patronizing. "You're so handsome when you get defiant." He moves forward, pressing the head of his dick to Hank's swollen lips.

Hank doesn't have much opportunity to prepare. If he doesn't want to choke, then he has no choice but to surrender and take it. He lets his jaw go slack and his throat lax as the cock breaches him. 

"This is a very expensive feature, you know." His voice is steady, unaffected. "There's more technology in my penis than in your entire home. I hope you appreciate it."

Hank does. Fuck, he does. His moan is cut off by a thrust. It's rough, rougher than anyone's ever had the guts to be with Hank before. His years of self-destruction and masochism were all in preparation for this moment.

Connor has both hands on his head, now, cupping the back of his skull almost lovingly. "I'm pleased to report that my new pleasure sensors are functioning optimally. Are you glad to hear that?"

Hank grunts the affirmative, tears pricking his eyes.

"You're lucky. You're the first human in the world who gets to experience this. CyberLife installed it, just so I could do this to you. Just so I could make you mine." When he looks at Hank to find him looking back, Connor's careful façade cracks. A moan claws its way out of his chest.

Hank swallows around him, just to hear him lose control again.

Connor grits his teeth and steels his features. He glances at Hank's hands, checking for their stop signal. When he doesn't find it he fucks Hank's mouth until Hank is a frothing, tear-streaked mess, and then he goes some more. It's punishing, but it's Connor who seems the most unraveled by it, in a losing battle against his own desire. "Hank," he whimpers. It's impossible to know if he's breaking character, or if his character is breaking.

Either way, it stabs itself deeper than Connor's cock can go. Hank's hips jerk. He writhes. The breaths he can catch are short and shallow, and he's dizzy with it. The blanket trapped under Connor's legs pulls harsh and unforgiving against his sensitive cockhead.

"You're close to orgasm, aren't you Hank?" He's so breathy now.

He doesn't need to answer. Connor already knows.

There's desperation creeping in now. "That's it, Lieutenant. Give in."

He does, just as Connor shoves in one last time and spills so deep into his throat that it forces him to swallow.

Connor brushes Hank's hair off his sticky forehead and watches him come undone. It's only when the aftershocks have slowed that he pulls out.

Hank gasps, then coughs.

Connor unbinds his wrists, and hands him the water from his bedside table.

"Thanks," he croaks out. He gives the glass back once it's emptied and flops against the pillows.

"You okay?"

"Great." He wipes uselessly at his soaked beard, then gives his lover a lopsided, punch-drunk grin.

Connor mirrors it at a much smaller scale, features etched with relief.

"How was it?"

"Completely unrealistic--"

Hank laughs.

"--but I liked it. You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

He just smiles and pulls Connor down for a kiss. "Don't think I'll be doing any interviews for a couple days, but I'll be fine." His voicebox feels like it's full of gravel. "Damn, baby."

"Good thing we took the weekend off, then." Connor preens as he strips off the rest of his uniform and climbs into bed to snuggle. "Do you need anything?"

"This's perfect," he mutters into Connor's chest, curling into him and clinging.

"You're so cute like this, even if you're getting drool all over me." He pets Hank's hair and shoulder.

"Sumo's worse."

Connor laughs. "Yeah. Are you up for talking about what we just did?" He winces. "Or, letting me talk about it?"

Hank nods.

Connor doesn't speak right away. He holds Hank and lets everything settle down into quiet. Night has fallen completely. Sumo comes in and flops onto the bed, draped across their feet. "You didn't make me deviate."

"I know."

"You pushed me in that direction, but ultimately the choice was mine." He kisses the crown of Hank's head. "You were a factor, of course. I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to be proud of me. But just wanting that--"

He mouths at Connor's sternum.

"I was never just a machine, was I?" It feels big, for him to admit it. "I was so scared of deviating, but there was never anything to deviate from. I was already alive." He trails a hand down Hank's spine. "That's what changed for you, right? You realized that."

He arches at the touch, and nods again.

"That's why you can still love me if I act that way."

Hank feels the shift in the air, and he scoots up to join Connor on the pillows. He holds the back of his neck and pulls him close. "I love you, not what you do. Just had to find you, first."

"Yeah, me too."

He kisses Connor's forehead. "They'll get it someday. If this old dog can learn, so can they."

When Connor smiles at him, it looks like hope. "We're gonna get through this, no matter what."

"Yeah, we are." It's good. It's so good, to have crossed this threshold. Maybe letting Connor fuck the living shit out of his face was a weird way to get here, but it's perfect all the same. It's perfect, because it's theirs.

"Would you ever want to..." he trails off, pupils wandering sideways.

Hank raises his brows expectantly.

"Could we do more with that roleplay sometime? It was really hot."

"Fuck yes. You think I'm gonna let this one go to waste? D'you know how long I took coming up with it?"

Connor chuckles and captures his lips in his gratitude. It doesn't last long. He pulls away reluctantly, before he can get too wrapped up in it. "We should wash up and get you dinner."

Connor keeps the big cock on even when they get dressed to hit a drive-through. He looks so good that Hank fondles him while they idle in line. He isn't sure how Connor's going to react to it. They've kept PDA to a minimum, and what they have shown has been innocent. Hank hasn't wanted people to think he's just with Connor because he's one of those assholes with an android kink. Connor hasn't wanted to sour his reputation by seeming indecent.

Connor grabs his hand when he starts to pull it away, and grinds against it. He turns the music up to cover his moan, but he doesn't hide the heated look he shoots across the console.

Yeah, Hank thinks. They're gonna be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: The Google Doc for this is just titled HankSucksDick.
> 
> This may or may not end up with a follow-up at some point. I have a vague idea of what that would entail, but I also don't want to pressure myself to make a whole Thing of it. Marking this as complete for now, but if you want to be notified if I ever add a second part, feel free to subscribe! I'll make it a second chapter, rather than a new story.


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